My schooldays were the best days of my life/

eating/arrived/my/while/lunch/were/friend/we

makes me feel a kind of disadvantaged. The point is that there is no sense of family in our house. We never fight with each other, and there are no family rows. We try not to get on each other's nerves, but we never do anything together. Everyone is preoccupied with their own business. Mum normally does some cooking, looks through some papers or discusses something with her collegues on the phone. Dad either watches TV or upgrades his car. My brother, who is eight, draws something or plays computer games. As for me, I just feel bored and lonely. To conceal it I pretend to be very busy with my homework, or go out even when I don't feel like doing it at all. Is it the same in other families? If you happen to have some ideas on how to help us. I'd really appreciate it. What could we do together to feel that we are together. Нужно ответить на это письмо, используя предложения ниже, их нужно закончить. doing something together is crucial to family happiness... from my personal experience i can say that... i can honestly say... it can be interesting to different generations... to involve everyone in... i suppose everyone will enjoy... why dont you arrange... you can try... it will give you a feeling... if it doesn't work...

Ви студент на курсах в Англії. Вам потрібно організувати вечір про традиційні страви та їжу вашої країни. Ви хочете запросити своїх друзів з курсу. Напишіть запрошення для цієї події. У запрошенні:
-пояснити про подію
-сказати де і коли це відбудеться
-сказати які страви ви можете скуштувати
-написати, що ще відбудеться цього вечора

arteries to all the parts of the body Scientists have determined that the total weight of the blood pumped by the hemi daily is about 10 tons. Physiologists have established that in the adult the heart makes from 60 to 7,' beats per minute.4n children the rate of heartbeat is much higher. Research work of many scientists has helped to determine that the rate of heartbeat increase depending on different emotions. Each beat of the heart is followed by a period of rest for the cardiac muscle Each wave of contraction and a period of rest following it compose a cardiac cycle The period of rest is shorter during greater physical exertion and longer when the body is at rest. The physiologists called the first phase of short contraction of both atria - the atrial systole, the second phase of more prolonged contraction of both ventricles- the ventricular systole. The period of rest of the cardiac muscle is called the diastole The blood received by the left atrium from the pulmonary circulation is discharged out by the left ventricle to the systemic circulation through the aorta. The atria act as receiving chambers.

--> It is very hard to choose the best way of studying language;

если кто писал на эту тему сочинение, подскажите еще примеры как начать.

pecial game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "SHMILY" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "SHMILY" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more. They dragged "SHMILY" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "SHMILY" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "SHMILY" on the very last sheet. There was no end to the places "SHMILY" would pop up. Little notes with "SHMILY" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "SHMILY" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture. It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparent's game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love - one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky enough to experience. Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome an old man he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other. But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared 10 years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that color so she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside. Now the cancer was once again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they still went to church every Sunday morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone. "SHMILY." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins, and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew then that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty. S-H-M-I-L-Y: See How Much I Love You.